Chapter 1
October 1803
The sky had grown increasingly darker as they neared the Blickton estate, and not because night was falling. A fat raindrop hit the window of Eugenia St. John’s coach as they turned up the drive toward the manor house. Trees dressed in gold and orange swayed in the wind, and Genie wondered how many leaves would be left on the branches come tomorrow.
Pity, for she loved the glorious colors of autumn. As had her dear husband. The familiar ache in her chest had lessened gradually over the past two years since his death, but it was still there. She wondered if it would always be. At least now when she thought of him, she smiled, and any tears she shed were due to fond memories instead of grief.
The house finally came into view, its pale stone Palladian structure rising into the blackening sky. Built less than a hundred years ago, Blickton was not as grand as Lakemoor, but then few estates were. Her husband, the Duke of Kendal, had kept Lakemoor and its land in excellent condition, and his son and heir was continuing that commitment, which Genie observed from the dower house.
The coach came to a stop in front of the door, and a footman rushed out with an umbrella. The rain began to fall in earnest as Genie stepped from the coach and hurried inside, her maid trailing behind.
“Welcome, Your Grace,” the butler greeted her. “The guests are gathered in the drawing room.”
Genie might have asked to go to her room first to change out of her traveling costume, but the hostess, her cousin Lady Cosford, bustled into the cavernous entry hall, her shoes tapping on the marble floor.
“Genie, you’re here at last! Come and meet the rest of the guests. I promise you can retire after a short introduction.” Cecilia smiled broadly, her sherry-brown eyes sparkling. She was always effusively cheerful. Genie had been particularly grateful for that trait after her husband had died.
It was because Cecilia had been so supportive and wonderful that Genie had agreed to come to her house party. The event would be her first major social occasion since Jerome’s death.
Genie summoned a smile. “Of course.” She removed her hat and gloves and handed them to her maid.
Cecilia linked her arm with Genie’s and swept her through several rooms until they reached the large drawing room that overlooked the vast parkland of the Blickton estate. “Everyone, please welcome the Dowager Duchess of Kendal!”
Dowager. Genie bristled inwardly at that title. She’d never thought to be a widow at the age of forty-two.
Surveying the room, she recognized only a handful of faces. She estimated there were twenty or so people in attendance. It also seemed at first glance that there was a rather equal ratio of men and women.
“Welcome, Genie!” One of the people Genie knew came forward, smiling brightly, her pale blue eyes sparkling with delight. Lady Bradford, a fellow widow, had been a dear friend.
Had been. Because Genie had isolated herself at her dower house at Lakemoor for the past two years.
Genie smiled warmly, genuinely glad to see Letitia. “I’m so pleased to see you, Lettie.”
“And I you.” She lowered her voice as she moved closer so that only Genie could hear. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
“I nearly didn’t,” Genie whispered, surprising herself at the disclosure.
“Now that everyone is here,” Cecilia said, “let us have proper introductions. We’ll go around the room, and when it’s your turn, say your name and something about yourself.”
“What should we say?” one gentleman asked, his brow arching.
Cecilia lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you choose. Though perhaps refrain from something so mundane as how many children you have or what you ate for breakfast. I’ll start. I’m Lady Cosford, your hostess, and I sleep with the window open all year round.”
“Even on a day like this?” a lady asked from the other side of the room.
“Especially on a day like this. I love the smell of the rain.” Cecilia turned her head to the gentleman on her left. “Your turn, Mr. Sterling.”
Since Genie stood on Cecilia’s right, she would go last. Another quick review of the room said this was going to take forever. Genie exhaled softly.
Slightly taller than average, Mr. Sterling possessed a charming smile and dark blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, giving the impression he was a man of good humor. “Then I shouldn’t start by extolling the virtues and follies of my four children.” This was met with laughter and shouts of “No!” from a few gentlemen, followed by more laughter.
“All right, then,” Mr. Sterling said, stifling his own chuckle. “I keep a hothouse with exotic flowers.”
“Ooh, that sounds lovely,” said the woman standing to his left. She took her turn next, and so the game—for that was what it seemed to be—continued around the room. Somewhere across the circle from Genie, she began to lose focus, her brain and body tired from the journey even though she simply rode in a carriage. What was it about travel that was so exhausting?
The sharp point of Cecilia’s elbow jolted Genie from her reverie. “Say that again, Lord Satterfield?” Cecilia said, fluttering her lashes.
“I said my favorite color is purple.”
Cecilia shot Genie an arch look that was clearly meant to communicate something. Then her lips pursed, and she dipped her gaze to Genie’s traveling costume. Which was…purple.
So? Genie glanced about and quickly registered that she was the only one in purple. She looked across the room and saw Lord Satterfield—that was his name, wasn’t it?—staring straight at her. Heat bloomed in Genie’s chest and spread outward, warming her blood and flushing her skin. It wasn’t just that he was staring at her. It was the way he was staring—he had the most arresting eyes, dark like a black coffee, with what should have been feminine lashes but that looked wholly perfect on him. He looked at her as if he simply couldn’t tear his attention away.
But then he did, as the game continued. Genie let out her breath, and only then did she realize she’d been holding it. She spent the next several minutes thinking about why she’d felt that sudden flash of fever. Perhaps she was becoming ill.
At last, it was almost her turn. She had no idea what she was going to say. Why hadn’t she spent this time thinking of something witty or at least interesting? Probably because she was the least interesting person she knew. Or so it seemed that was what she’d become.
Cecilia looked at her encouragingly. “It’s your turn,” she whispered.
“I’m…” Genie croaked. She coughed gently. “I’m the Dowager Duchess of Kendal, but then Cec—Lady Cosford already told you that. This is my first house party in some time. I, ah, like to dance.” How perfectly boring and predictable.
“Excellent, for there will be plenty of dancing!” Cecilia said, clapping her hands together. “Lovely, now we all know one another. We’ll adjourn shortly so that those who wish to retire for a time may do so before we gather for dinner. We’ll meet here at half six and then proceed to the dining room at seven. After dinner, there will be cards and dancing. Tomorrow, we have entertainments planned, including a picnic and a walk to the River Swift.” She looked behind her toward the doorway and frowned. “I do wonder where Cosford has taken off to.” She smiled brightly. “Ah well, he’ll be here soon, I imagine. If you haven’t yet been to your room, a footman will escort you. And here are some refreshments!”